


loosen up

by somethingradiates



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Barebacking, I should probably warn for incest but I feel like that comes with the territory, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, No-apocalypse AU, Sober Klaus, This is extremely plot-light just fyi. It's like a solid 3.2k of porn, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 10:14:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17937887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingradiates/pseuds/somethingradiates
Summary: The worst part of sobriety is the boredom.  Diego thinks he has a solution.





	loosen up

Klaus is different when he’s sober. 

It’s not a bad thing. He’s still _Klaus_ , loud and inappropriate and dramatic and a pain in the goddamn ass - he’s just less of all of those things, takes a little longer to say something like maybe he’s actually thinking about it before it comes out of his mouth. 

(It weirds Diego out, if he’s honest. It’s been so long since he’s seen Klaus sober that it’s a little bit like meeting a new person.)

There are some things about Klaus that will never change, whether he’s sober or not. He’s funny and sharply observant and filterless, and normally Diego would bemoan that - Christ, if anybody on the planet needs a filter it’s fucking Klaus - but it’s actually kind of nice, knowing that whatever Klaus is saying is coming from _him_ and not whatever he’s snorted in the last half hour. 

Except that Klaus is currently saying _being sober is the fucking worst,_ draped over the back of the couch in his hippie-junkie-chic bedroom. Diego’s sitting on the arm of it, and he’d been distracted - there’s a rip in the seam that he’s painstakingly trying to sew back together - but that jolts him back to reality. 

“Why’s that?” He’s proud of how casual he sounds. It’s taken a while - a couple of weeks, at least - to not snap at Klaus when he complains about his newfound sobriety, even though it isn’t _really_ sobriety because he’s still going through about a pound and a half of pot a week. It keeps things at bay, he says, and it’s not meth or painkillers or fuck knows what, so Diego lets it go, but. 

“I’m _bored._ ” Klaus says it like he’s been waiting for Diego to ask for the last month, flops his arm over his forehead like a dying ingenue in a Victorian romance. “I’m so desperately, desperately bored, Diego. I miss the excitement of my previous life. I miss _cocaine,_ oh my God.” 

“Get fucked,” Diego says unthinkingly. He’s irritated, suddenly and hotly. “You’re doing good. You don’t need that shit.”

“I need _something._ ” Klaus shimmies on the back of the couch, tight t-shirt riding up over the jutting ridges of his hip bones, creeping over his navel. Diego stares. Klaus notices. “I’m bored, Di.” 

“Take up knitting,” Diego says absently. He’s still staring. Klaus is still noticing. Fuck, when did he lose his cool? He used to be good at this. “Learn how to do sudoku. Or crossword puzzles.” 

“I like your insinuation that I don’t know how to do sudoku or _crossword puzzles,_ you fucking jackass,” Klaus says, and hits the cushions with a surprisingly heavy _thump_. “I’m actually pretty good at sudoku, just for the record.”

“Uh-huh.” Diego’s just holding the needle and thread, now, not trying to actually fix the rip anymore. He’s not looking at Klaus, though, so that counts for something. 

At least, until Klaus sits up, and that’s only because Klaus uses Diego’s thigh as an anchor point to push himself upright but never takes his hand back _off_ of him. Klaus runs cool - he’s clammy at the best of times, fuck - but he’s _hot_ where his hand is resting on Diego’s thigh, burning right through his joggers. The one fucking day Diego dresses down, doesn’t bother with the vigilante getup. Christ. 

It’s just - it’s not like he doesn’t know what’s going on here. It’s not like he and Klaus have never done this - they haven’t for a while, not really, but it’s kind of like riding a bike, only Diego’s dick is the bike and Klaus is an Olympic cyclist or something. He’s not sure. It’s hard to focus with Klaus’ hand sliding slowly up his thigh. 

“You said something interesting a minute ago,” Klaus says, and his tone is light but there’s a sharp, interested gleam in his eyes when Diego meets them. 

“Did I,” Diego says, and he thinks there’s going to be more flirting, more wordplay or something, but Klaus is rolling his eyes and climbing into Diego’s lap in one movement, swinging one skinny thigh over to straddle him, and just like that Klaus is kissing him, and - 

Klaus is still a good kisser, Diego thinks, a little dazed. He kisses like he did when they were teenagers, sweet and hot and greedy, opening Diego’s mouth with his tongue, biting at his bottom lip when he pulls away, and it’s only when he tries to put his hands on Klaus’ ass that Diego pulls back.

“For Christ’s sake,” he says, “hold on, I’ve still got a fuckin’ sewing needle in my hand, hold on,” and Klaus lets out a nervous, giddy giggle, shifts a little in Diego’s lap - enough to drag friction over his rapidly more interested cock but not nearly enough to actually get off of his lap like Diego intended. 

“Get up,” he says, and Klaus, like he was waiting for it, cocks his head to one side and says _make me._

Okay, Diego thinks, that’s how they’re going to play this. Okay.

He stands up, and even though Klaus makes a sharp, surprised little noise, he was clearly expecting it - his thighs tighten around Diego’s hips, arms winding around his neck. _Somebody’s gonna step on that,_ Diego thinks - he drops the sewing needle altogether, lets it bounce off the hardwood floor and roll somewhere out of sight, tries to remember to remind himself to pick it up in the morning, but Klaus’ mouth is on his neck by now and he’s _a little distracted_. 

It’s just a couple of steps to the bed and he just - falls forward, lets Klaus take the brunt of the fall with his back and shoulders. Klaus likes that sort of shit, if he’s remembering right (like it’s not seared into his brain, like he hasn’t jerked off a thousand times over the last few years thinking about Klaus begging him to pull his hair and choke him and come on his face or come inside him) - being manhandled, getting tossed around a little. He’s pretty sure he’s right, if the helpless, breathless noise Klaus makes is anything to go by. 

“Fuck,” Klaus says, long and pleased, arches his throat back like an invitation, and Diego takes it - Klaus is so goddamn _pretty_ , all long legs and pale skin and fluttering dark eyelashes, and he wants to look at him for just a second before he starts to work on that neck, sucks a hickey into the soft spot right underneath his jaw. Klaus shaved himself clean yesterday morning - it takes him forever to grow a beard, he’s not even prickly yet, and if Diego’s a little too fond when he reaches up to cup Klaus’ jaw, run his thumb over his cheekbone - it’s fine. 

Klaus is saying _hey_ suddenly, both hands at Diego’s back, underneath his shirt, _hey, you’re wearing too many clothes, come on._ Diego sits back just enough to tug his shirt over his head with one hand, laughing at the look on Klaus’ face - if he didn’t know better he’d say it was hunger. 

“Fuck,” Klaus says again, but this time it’s quieter. He runs one hand down Diego’s chest, trails down to his abs, down to the trail of fine dark hair that leads into the waistband of his boxers. He doesn’t stop at any of the scars. Diego loves him for it. 

He leans in and kisses Klaus again, and this time it lasts - Klaus sucks on his tongue and Diego wants to know where the _fuck_ he learned that because the noise it pulls out of him is goddamned embarrassing. Somewhere along the way Klaus works his slender, clever hand down the front of Diego’s pants, curls his fingers around his cock; he’s been hard for what feels like hours, straining against his boxers, and Klaus lets out a shuddery little breath when he finally gets his pants down around his thighs, gets both hands around Diego like he means it. 

“Lay back,” he says, “c’mon, I wanna suck your dick,” and it’s - God, that’s been a frequent masturbatory memory, too, Klaus’ hot, slick mouth around him, swallowing desperately around the cock down his throat, both hands splayed on Diego’s thighs while he tries to take all of it - but Diego finds himself holding still, even when Klaus puts one hand on his chest to push him back. 

“Let me - “ he starts, and gets one hand on Klaus’ flat belly, eases him back. “Let me. Okay?” 

It doesn’t make sense. He thought he knew what he was going to say, but Klaus seems to get it anyway, raises his eyebrows and grins a little, pulls his shirt off over his head and lays back on his mess of pillows. “Yes, sir.” 

(He’s not Luther, doesn’t get off on titles, but his dick twitches at that. Interesting.) 

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty,” Diego says, a little stupidly, because - he _is_ , Christ, Klaus is gorgeous. Klaus makes a face, tugs him down to kiss him, one hand at the back of Diego’s neck, and - Diego doesn’t like that, whatever that face was, but he’s thoroughly distracted by the way Klaus is kissing him and then even _more_ when he finally gets his hand on Klaus’ dick. He’s wearing jeans so old and faded that they’re cotton-soft, and somewhere along the line he’d popped open the buttons; they’re tight, though, way too tight for Diego to get his hand down the front of them, and somewhere between kisses he mumbles _why are you still wearing pants_ against Klaus’ neck. 

“That’s such a good question,” Klaus says breathlessly, arches his hips up to shimmy his jeans down, and - fuck, of course he wasn’t wearing underwear, of _course_. Diego gets a hand on him immediately and revels in the wounded little noise Klaus makes, the way he bucks his hips against Diego’s hand. 

“Do you have lube,” Diego says, and before the last word is even out of his mouth Klaus is saying _top drawer over there, fuck yes,_ because Klaus is a creature of instant gratification and seems to think he’s getting fucked already. 

It’s a pretty fair assumption. Diego’s impossibly hard, keeps nudging up against Klaus’ skinny little thigh and sending shocks through him - if he didn’t have a vague idea where he was heading with this there would be some preemptive prep and sinking himself into Klaus’ tight body like every animal instinct he’s got is screaming at him to do. Klaus looks so fucking _good_ like this, he thinks, and just looks at him while he’s drizzling lube over his fingers, warming it up between them - he’s watching Diego, one arm folded behind his head like he’s a god or a pornstar or something, and he would almost seem cool if Diego couldn’t hear his breath shuddering. 

“You good?” Diego doesn’t know what possesses him to ask, but - Klaus blinks at him, blinks and laughs, says _I’m gonna be here in a second, hurry up,_ and tightens the leg he’s got wrapped around Diego’s hips. That’s as good a yes as any, Diego thinks, and rubs the tips of two fingers over Klaus’ hole, watches his mouth drop open when he tips his head back, and before Klaus can even get _Diego, c’mon_ all the way out of his mouth he’s sliding them past the first tight ring of muscle. 

Klaus tenses for just a second - one heartbeat, two, three - before he relaxes, runs a hand up the back of Diego’s neck to pull him in for a kiss. Diego takes his time, works him open slow - he knows Klaus’ body, though, remembers it like a well-loved map, and it doesn’t take him any time at all to work a rhythm out. 

Klaus makes a little _oh_ noise and arches forward, eyes fluttering open. They look bigger, Diego thinks, without the makeup. “Jesus Christ,” Klaus says, “fuck, God, Diego, Jesus,” and Diego kind of wants to make a comment about how many names Klaus just said but formulating a sentence would require more brains than he thinks he has right now, what with every ounce of blood in his body rushing towards his dick. 

He twists his wrist, though, and it works a whine out of Klaus’ throat, makes Klaus drive his head back against the pillows. “Would you just _fuck_ me,” Klaus says, rushed, “God, Diego, please just fuck me,” and if Diego had _just_ a shade less self-control - 

But he doesn’t. Diego has self-control, and a plan, and Diego leans in to trail his lips over the shell of Klaus’ ear, bites at the taut skin behind his jaw. “No,” he says, murmurs it right behind Klaus’ ear, presses a kiss to the back of it, “not yet, I’m gonna make you come a couple times first,” and Klaus fucking _whines_ , claws at Diego’s bicep, says _please please please_ in a breathless whine until Diego kisses him, works his mouth open, gets bitten hard on the bottom lip for his trouble before Klaus kisses him back. 

Diego works another finger into Klaus while they’re distracted - Klaus keens, sharp and high, arches up towards him for a moment before he settles. He’s so fucking reactive, Diego thinks, pets his free hand down Klaus’ thigh. He’s holding himself so tight that he’s trembling, the muscles all down his thigh taut and shaking. 

“I want your dick,” Klaus is saying, gets his hand at the back to Diego’s neck, fingers scrabbling like they’re grasping for hair to pull, “please, Di, come on, fuck me, I want your dick, I wanna feel you,” and maybe that’s worked before - maybe he’s been with other people that wanted that ego boost, maybe - 

Diego’s surprised by how hard that hits, the sudden thought of Klaus with someone else - of course he’s been with someone else, Klaus has been with hundreds of people, probably, and it chases itself around in his head like a particularly poorly-trained dog spinning in circles to catch its own tail. 

“I said no,” Diego says, and his intention is for it to be serious but it comes out almost as a purr, right next to Klaus’ ear, and Klaus’ whole body shudders. “Not yet, baby, you’re gonna get this dick when you’re ready, you’re gonna come riding my fingers first, aren’t you?” The last few words are almost stream-of-conscious. He’s not completely sure he meant for them to be said at all. 

“Fuck,” Klaus says breathlessly, “fuck, yes, okay, yes,” and Diego stops fucking around, then, like that acknowledgment tripped a wire somewhere - he’s nudging Klaus’ prostate every time he twists his fingers up and the sixth or seventh time he does it in a row Klaus is making desperate soft little whining noises, his nails digging hard into Diego’s back, dragging up to his shoulders. _God,_ he’s saying, _God, Diego, fuck, fuck, oh,_ like a chant or a prayer, and it doesn’t take another minute or two before Klaus is arching his skinny hips and tightening around Diego’s fingers and coming, shooting white over the flat tight pane of his belly. He’s surprisingly quiet when he does, gasps _fuck, Diego_ and drives his head back against the pillows. 

Diego knows he just teased Klaus about getting his dick, knows he’d told Klaus that he was going to make him come a couple of times before he fucked him, and if Klaus hadn’t just come he’d be laughing at Diego for going back on his word so fast, for talking big - but Diego can’t help it, uses both hands to fumble with the lube until he can a handful to slick himself with, pushes Klaus’ thighs open just farther enough that he can get between them. 

He asks again, stupidly, with his hand around his dick and Klaus squirming in front of him, _you good?_ , and Klaus’ eyes open halfway to meet his. “You’re fucking ridiculous,” Klaus says, “Christ, Diego, come on, please,” and that’s all Diego needs - if he were capable of having thoughts he’d probably be having second ones about fucking Klaus bare but the only thing bouncing around in his brain is how fucking good Klaus feels, silky and tight and impossibly hot, how Klaus’ hips feel under his hands. Diego leans down to kiss him and Klaus kisses him back like it’s a fight, desperate, bites at his lips and keeps chasing after him for kisses when Diego breaks away. 

Klaus can’t stop making _sounds_ , God, Diego doesn’t remember him ever being this loud before - he’s not loud, not really, it’s just the frequency of them, moaning on every exhale, every thrust. His eyes are shut, tears beading in the corners - it’s a lot, it might be too much ( _Jesus Christ,_ Klaus says in his head, years and years ago with both of his skinny hands around Diego’s dick, sinking to his knees, _congratulations_ ), but Klaus is half-hard again _already_. 

Diego gets a hand wrapped around Klaus’ thigh, spreads him open a little wider, pushes him back - Klaus whimpers and squeezes his eyes shut, one hand reaching up to wind its fingers in the pillow behind him like he’s trying to keep himself steady. It’s not working. Diego’s jolting Klaus’ skinny body up the bed with every thrust, tugs him impatiently back towards him when he starts getting too far away, settles on reaching up to wind their fingers together, his palm pressing the back of Klaus’ hand into the mattress. 

“Next time,” Diego says, leans down to bite Klaus’ ear, trail his mouth down Klaus’ jaw, neck, collarbones. “Next time, I’m gonna eat you out til you fucking cry, I’m gonna make you beg for my dick like you _mean_ it - ”

“Fuck off,” Klaus says, but his whole body shivers. “Fuck off, Diego, you fucking sadist, _Jesus_ ,” and Diego’s so, so tempted to run a fingertip through the come on Klaus’ belly and ask him if he knows what sadist even means, but - that would take too much coordination, too much thought, all of his everything is hyper-focused on making Klaus make those sweet, desperate little sounds again. 

It’s impossibly good, all of it - Klaus is all over him, the thigh he’s got around Diego’s hips drawing him closer, the hand on his back roaming to the back of his head to pull him in so that Klaus can say _kiss me, c’mere, please_ right against his mouth. 

“I missed this,” Klaus says, after. Diego’s barely holding himself up, now, wants to be closer, wants his mouth on Klaus wherever he can reach. “I missed you, fuck, Di, I missed you,” and Diego kisses him again because he doesn’t trust what he’ll say in response: _you could have come to me, you should have come to me, I would have fixed it, I could have_ , even though Diego knows even as he thinks it that it’s bullshit. Klaus kisses him back fiercely, whines into it - Diego’s fucking him harder, his free hand gripping Klaus’ hip with bruising pressure, breath coming sharply and irregularly against Klaus’ lips, against his neck when Diego breaks the kiss to press half-focused kisses against his skin. 

Klaus shivers again, full-bodied, his fingers clenching helplessly against Diego’s skin. “Oh my God,” he says, almost under his breath, “oh, fuck, Diego, _fuck_ , you’re gonna make me come again,” and Diego huffs out a laugh against Klaus’ neck, hauls Klaus’ hips up into his lap a little higher, changes the angle just enough that Klaus makes a sharp, surprised noise in his throat. 

“I’m not - “ Klaus squirms, whines, seems at once like he’s trying to get closer and trying to get away, “I’m not fucking kidding,” and Diego trails a hand down to Klaus’ dick - he’s hard again, incredibly, and Diego would say something about it if there was any room in his brain for thoughts that aren’t how good this is, how sweet Klaus feels around him - Diego roughs his thumb under the head of his cock, jerks him once, loosely, and Klaus fucking _bites_ him, hard, right where his neck meets his shoulder, clenches and tightens around him impossibly, makes a gutshot sound - 

And Diego thinks, a little blankly, _oh,_ thinks _he wasn’t kidding_ , and follows, one stuttering thrust, two, and buries himself to the hilt, holds himself there while he comes, listens to Klaus murmur _come in me, fuck, Diego, c’mon,_ above him. He’s got his forehead pressed against Klaus’ shoulder, hard, practically pressing him into the mattress. He can’t fucking _move_. 

Klaus giggles faint and tired above him, leans to press a kiss to the side of Diego’s head. “You’re heavy,” he says, and shoves gently at Diego’s side, but doesn’t dig his fingers between Diego’s ribs where he knows he’s ticklish, doesn’t really try to get him to move at all. Diego presses a lazy open-mouthed kiss against Klaus’ shoulder, another to his neck, jaw, cheek, up to his mouth. 

“I’m heavy,” he says, and recognizes that he sounds sleepier than he is. He thinks, anyway. “And you’re sticky.” 

Klaus makes a dissatisfied little _mm_ noise. Diego is softening inside of him and he pulls away almost regretfully, makes Klaus make another unhappy noise, this one a little louder. 

“We should shower,” Diego says, and makes no move to get up and do exactly that. He’s still draped halfway across Klaus, partially on his side but mostly still on top of him. He likes being close to Klaus.

“Probably,” Klaus says, and doesn’t either.

They’re quiet for a little while - it is a little gross, Diego thinks, and surely grosser for Klaus than it is for him, but Klaus is busy planting idle little kisses against Diego’s neck and skating his fingertips up and down his back. 

“You still thinking about coke?” Diego asks after a few long moments, staring at the ceiling. 

Klaus stills for a moment. “Are you - was that fucking _distraction sex?_ ” 

Diego grins. “Did it work?” 

“God, you’re such an asshole,” Klaus says, but there’s no venom in his voice, and he only lasts a few seconds before he’s tucking his head under Diego’s jaw, draping his arm over Diego’s chest. 

That’s not a yes, Diego thinks. But it’s not a _no_ , either. 

...It’s probably worth another try, sooner or later.

**Author's Note:**

> apparently i only write porn or sad things
> 
> get @ me on tumblr at hargreeeves
> 
> send me things you want me to write!


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